


My Fearless Love, Go Bravely On

by celedan



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel Sex, Angel/Demon Sex, Crowley Was Raphael Before Falling (Good Omens), Eventual Happy Ending, Fallen Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Fallen Angels, First Kiss, First Love, First Time, Happy Ending, M/M, Mention of torture, Starstruck Lovers, War in Heaven (Good Omens), different POVs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:55:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25918426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celedan/pseuds/celedan
Summary: A bored Archangel Raphael stumbles upon Principality Aziraphale. Fascinated with each other, the two angels strike up a friendship, and quickly start falling deeply in love. But then, Lucifer starts a civil war in Heaven, and Aziraphale somehow finds himself on the wrong side. Raphael will do everything to save the love of his life. Even Fall for him.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 85





	My Fearless Love, Go Bravely On

**Author's Note:**

> I know that angels are supposed to be beings of light or only consisting of a lot of wings and eyes or whatever, but this wouldn't have really worked for this story for obvious reasons. So, let's just imagine that they look like humans, like they do in the show, and that they, although they don't have an actual, corporal body (like Aziraphale when he was discorporated, he nonetheless looks like he did on Earth, just without a physical body consisting of firm matter), they a least have some kind of body/form that enables them to touch each other etc. Just think of something along those lines.
> 
> Oh, and the title is taken from the “Lucifer” song „My love will never die“ by Claire Whyndam
> 
> The Mature-Rating is maybe more for the bits of torture we see in the than for the sex, so if anybody feels triggered there, be careful.

He was so bored.

Strolling aimlessly through Heaven, he sighed, put-upon, desperately in search of something to do.

Because as it was, even though he was one of the four Archangels, he didn't have overly much to do. Back in the good old days when he had been responsible for creating the stars, that had been fun! But now, it was quite calm in Heaven. His best friend Lucifer was starting to complain as well, but, typically Lucifer, much louder and seeking an audience for his snappish complaints.

It didn't help the fact that the other Archangels, especially Gabriel, considered him as their baby-brother which was why they coddled him and wrapped him up in fleecy clouds, never giving him any arduous tasks. And that only because he had been the last of the Four to be created by Her. It was so unfair!

A sudden commotion drew his attention, and he felt elated. Maybe something interesting was happening (he trod down on the guilt sitting nastily deep in his gut for wishing to encounter trouble).

Rounding a corner, he spied five angels, four of them surrounding another who pressed himself back against the wall behind him, clearly seeking protection.

For a moment, he watched. Although he couldn't understand their words, he saw the cruelty in their faces, heard the mocking in their voices, saw the threat they posed to the other in their stances. And in the other angel's shockingly sweet, innocent looking face, he read anxiety, but also weariness, so as if this wasn't the first time such a taunting assault took place.

Before he could come to a decision to step in, the four angels backed off. Throwing disdainful looks back at their fellow brother, they simply went away.

The other angel remained behind. For a moment, he stared after them wistfully, then lowered his gaze sadly. He heard the dejected sigh even to where he stood at a distance.

Unsure, he fidgeted with the golden ring on his finger. Should he go to the other angel, offer him comfort? Maybe the other wanted to be left alone for a moment.

What took the decision right out of his hands was the way the other angel suddenly turned around, and slumped down onto the top of the stairs next to him that led down to a cramped little observation deck looking out over the universe. He hid his face in his hands, but he was unsure if the angel was simply hiding from everything around him, seeking solace, or if he was crying.

Nonetheless, he couldn't watch this for even one more minute.

Straightening, he walked over to the other angel.

“You okay?” he asked softly, coming to a standstill next to the other angel.

He flinched, and a soft wobbly intake of breath could be heard. “Yes, of course. Jolly good, ev'rything is fine,” the blond angel then mumbled with false cheer while he desperately tried to compose himself, his cheeks suddenly flushing in embarrassment at being caught in that pitiful state. And then, he looked up to the stranger that had addressed him.

When their eyes met, his eyes widened fearfully.

“You...” he stammered. “You are the Archangel Raphael!”

“Well, yeah,” Raphael answered, puzzled, but also slightly sarcastic. “Does that mean I'm not allowed to ask if you're okay or something?” He cocked a challenging eyebrow, and then sat down next to the flabbergasted angel who couldn't seem to stop staring at him.

“Yes... I mean, no... I... But... You're one of the Archangels. Why would _you_ bother with a Principality?”

Raphael made a face. “Okay, first, I didn't know that you're a Principality. Second, even if I had known, why should that matter? We're all brothers and sisters.”

The other angel still stared at him with his wide, innocent blue eyes, but a hint of admonishing exasperation lay in them.

“Well, yeah, okay, we _should_ be brothers and sisters,” Raphael amended in exasperation, and let his gaze stray out over the vast beauty of the universe unfolding before them. “'S so thoughtless of Her, really, creating different hierarchies among us. That practically screams future discontent.”

A shocked gasp made him look at the other again.

“You can't criticise Her work!” he accused in a mixture of fear and sternness.

Raphael made a grumbling noise. “Just saying. She could have planned that better. But maybe first try and ev'rything.”

The other angel tsked, completely brushing off his fearful awe of dealing with an Archangel. “You're unbelievable. How can we know what She intended with her actions?”

“Nothing,” Raphael answered promptly. “She intended nothing. Or at least nothing anyone else could ever understand. Pretty ineffable, She is.”

“Oh,” the other mouthed softly. “Right. You've met Her.”

“Sure. You haven't?”

“Ah, no. Third Hierarchy, remember?” he sighed a little wistfully. 

“That's quite unfair.”

The angel shrugged. “It is as it is. Like you said. Ineffable.”

“Hm.”

They stared at the softly moving clouds and stars and nebulas beyond the window for a while.

“What's you name by the way?” Raphael eventually asked.

“Aziraphale.”

“Nice to meet you, Aziraphale. I'm Raphael.”

Aziraphale chuckled fondly. “I know who you are.”

Raphael chanced a look at him, and grinned charmingly.

If both of their divine essences pulsed and throbbed like mad in that moment with a strange, unfamiliar attraction and yearning, neither mentioned it.

The more they talked, the more easy-going Aziraphale became as he slowly shed the rest of his lingering trepidation over dealing with one of the Archangels.

On the inside, Raphael rejoiced at this. He wanted to get to know this strangely fascinating angel better; better than anyone had ever known him. He didn't see what everyone else saw; a soft, innocent and trusting being which most who saw him considered as weak. No. Under that alluring innocence and delicate beauty he wanted to bask in, Raphael saw strength. It had just been suppressed by hurtful remarks for a long time now so that Azirphale had started to believe himself as weak and soft. Raphael also saw love and an intelligent mind, and he saw an incredibly sly sense of humour that he wanted to soak up.

At one point, they left Aziraphale's hiding spot, and aimlessly strolled through the more pleasant parts of Heaven, never stopping their animated conversation for even one minute.

“Why did these other angels torment you like that?” Raphael finally worked up the courage to ask his new friend what had been on his mind since the beginning of their acquaintance.

Aziraphale started squirming uncomfortably at the question, and his gaze was drawn to the white-tiled floor in front of them.

“Oh, ehm... they don't like me much because...” He flushed slightly in embarrassment and self-consciousness, “because I can be a bit naive sometimes. Add to that, Principalities are supposed to be warriors, but I'm pretty soft instead, never liked the sparring – and I really wonder against whom we are preparing to fight; there is no one beside us angels – which doesn't go down all that well with the others as well.”

“I don't see any sense in fighting either; never got why She invented the concept of fighting, but nobody ever cared that _I_ have that opinion.”

Aziraphale snorted at that self-deprecatingly. “Yes, my dear, but you're one of the Four. Nobody would dare bother _you_ about that.”

“Gabriel would,” Raphael disagreed.

“Balderdash. He adores you. Everyone knows that.”

Raphael grimaced at the thought that everyone in Heaven seemed to know how much Gabriel spoilt him. Not an image he preferred to be known for, big brother's little darling.

But since he didn't really want to deepen this string of conversation, he just made a grumbling noise.

“Why then did they put you with the Principalities in the first place?” Raphael frowned to change the topic. “You'd have been much better suited to be a Cherub.”

At that, Aziraphale sighed heavily. “Not that anybody could break out of their assigned role, but... I fear I wouldn't fit in so well with them either.”

Raphael came to a stop at that in the middle of the corridor, his brow furrowed heavily. “Why not?”

Aziraphale gulped, and then, he hastily looked around if anybody was near to overhear them. The way he acted, Raphael imagined a magnanimous, shameful secret would be revealed to him in the next minute. Couldn't be though. This angel, Raphael knew that deep in his heart, wasn't capable of any depravity.

“I have... thoughts,” Aziraphale finally admitted in a hushed voice.

Raphael's eyebrows almost climbed up into his copper-coloured hairline. “Thoughts?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes,” Aziraphale confirmed softly, ashamed.

Raphael frowned at that again. “What kind of thoughts?”

“Well, I...” Quickly, Aziraphale once more looked around uneasily to check if they were still alone.

“I love to dream,” he finally confessed with a heavy sigh. “And... and imagine all kinds of things. The universe is so magnificent, so full of wonder. There have to be more possibilities than there are now. You see, the other angels think that a bit strange, disturbing even.” Aziraphale shrugged helplessly. “They're more of the no-nonsense type, going about their duties, and that's it.”

“Oh yeah, they are,” Raphael agreed wholeheartedly, Gabriel, Michael and Uriel being prime examples for this. 

He scratched his forehead, thinking hard about Aziraphale's words.

“Well, I see what you mean, angel, but, in my opinion, having these thoughts isn't anything bad.”

Aziraphale let out a soft, surprised “Oh”, and he looked at Raphael with big, hopeful eyes. “You really think so?” His hopeful mood dimmed again all of a sudden. “But... it's easy for you to say something like that. You, as an Archangel, have every right to think  _ thoughts _ or even dream. It's your task to help Her form all the wonders of the universe, after all. You have access to the Library, access to knowledge, are supposed to  _ fill _ it with that knowledge and the wonders of Creation you are a part of to document it all, so it's even expected of you to busy yourself with such things, and be... creative.”

Aziraphale's gaze suddenly turned wistful and far away. “Oh, how I wish to see the Library only once.”

Raphael blinked hard at him so that the other angel hastily averted his gaze in embarrassment at his foolishness. 

“You want to see the Library?!”

“Y-yes... I... I know it's preposterous and presumptuous, but... well... I can't help myself.”

The blond angel eventually started to squirm in earnest as he was subjected to Raphael's incredulous stare.

Suddenly, the Archangel blinked, and snapped out of his stupor . “Well, if that's all. Come, I'll show you.”

Aziraphale's eyes widened in shock at the abruptness. “No!” he squeaked. “This Library is only for the Seraphims and the Archangels!”

Raphael rolled his eyes. “Duh, I know that – and it's a stupid rule, by the way. But I am the Archangel Raphael. And if I want to go into the Library, and happen to have a friend with me, then nobody can say anything.”

Aziraphale actually blushed prettily as Raphael winked cheekily at him, but the Archangel didn't give him any time to object any further when he clasped his hand in his to drag him down the vast corridors.

Making their way through half of Heaven, they finally stopped in front of huge double-wing doors.

“The librarian will get a stroke if he sees me in there,” Raphael joked as he pushed open the heavy golden doors. “Books. Not really my thing. I prefer the development department, and leave writing the memos and reports for the Library to someone else.”

Aziraphale chuckled fondly, but before he could reply something to this, he was standing inside the Libr ary. He looked around, looked up at the seemingly infinite space that was mostly still empty he had to realise a little disappointed, but also excited in favour of future possibilities to fill that space. Either way, the sight was breathtaking. Az iraphale gulped, hardly daring to move, that was how humbled and awed he was at the sight before him.

Raphael came to a stop beside him. The Archangel sniffed. “This place isn't really what it's cracked up to be.” He shrugged disdainfully, and looked at all the empty shelves. “Present company excluded, we lot aren't exactly imaginative. Give us reports and memos to write, woohoo, but writing down  _ pretty _ things... And it's not as if much excitement happens around here that would be even  _ worth _ writing down.”

“The universe is still young,” Aziraphale breathed. “ _ We _ are still so young. You'll see, one day, this place will burst with knowledge and fine words.”

“If you say so, angel,” Raphael replied aloofly, trying to hide the way Aziraphale's obvious pleasure affected him.

“Go on,” he said to distract himself from his strange feelings, “go take a closer look.”

Trembling with giddy excitement, Aziraphale first looked at him, then let his gaze wander around once more in open adoration. “What about the... Is it allowed?”

“Sure. Come on, go.”

Gifting Raphael with a brilliant smile, Aziraphale bounded for one of the shelves, just looking at the treasures they housed for a moment; Scrolls and tomes made from finely spun cloud matter, the sacred words of Creation within written in pure light. His fingers trembled as he reached out to pull one book from the shelf randomly.

Raphael watched him unabashed since the other angel was lost in the book he held in his hand. An inner, divine light lit up Aziraphale's whole being, and Raphael shamelessly basked in this radiance of Aziraphale's joyous happiness. He had never met an angel that was so pure, so full of wonder and joy about Creation, who really _loved_ all of existence instead of just seeing it as a task that has to be done.

The Archangel actually didn't know how long he stood there, completely content as he watched Aziraphale. It could have been a small eternity for all he cared, and he very well could have continued to watch the happy angel forever. But another feeling started to make itself known deep inside of him; heavier, more potent, almost selfish, and sizzling with something quite unkown to him. He wanted to always see Aziraphale as happy as this, the knowledge that it had been Raphael who had made him this happy caused a feeling deep inside the angel's essence that was almost as strong as the joy of seeing Aziraphale like this. He liked that feeling, so now, he wanted to show him even more wonders to experience that feeling for a little while longer.

So, eventually, he gently drew the ecstatic angel away from the books with the firm promise to come back here. Trustingly, Aziraphale let himself be led away. But, much to his astonishment, they didn't leave the Library. On the contrary. Raphael led him even further inside, up a wide flight of stairs until they reached a lookout, much more vast and appealing than the niched one they had left behind earlier. A huge, opulent, round window opened up in the white wall, revealing the whole universe to them. The sight was magnificent, and both angels suddenly felt incredibly small and humbled. What made the whole experience quite cosy instead of intimidating were the huge plush seat cushions that were piled beneath the window.

Happily, Raphael and Aziraphale settled down there comfortably and completely relaxed.

For a long while, they simply watched the beauty beyond the window.

“I helped make the stars,” Raphael suddenly blurted out, and, blushing furiously, shyly averted his gaze. “Well, not  _ all _ of them, but a lot,” he amended, and hastily tried to cover up his bashful embarrassment. “See that nebula there? That's one of mine,” he shuffled closer to Aziraphale until he was pressed against his back, and stretched out his arm over the angel's shoulder, pointing his finger in the right direction. Both ignored the strong tingling and warmth that suddenly spread between them where their bodies touched. 

“Oh, and see that? Alpha Centauri? Made that, too. It's my favourite. It was so much fun to create all these stars.”

He practically sensed Aziraphale's gentle smile, and heard it in his soft voice, too, when he spoke, “That's a beautiful work you've done.”

Raphael blushed involuntarily, soaking up that heady feeling from earlier which had returned, and was glad that Aziraphale couldn't see his face in that moment.

Little by little, Raphael pointed out more stars and galaxies that he had helped create, and he basked in Aziraphale's fervent but honest praise at the beauty of Raphael's work. 

Eventually though, they fell silent, simply watching and appreciating the magnificence unfolding in front of them. And as if it was completely natural, they hadn't moved out of their intimate quasi embrace after Raphael had stopped pointing out the stars to Aziraphale. No. Now, they snuggled even closer to each other, curled up in the soft pillows with Raphael holding Aziraphale tightly in his arms and securely wedged between his legs. 

They stayed like that for a long, long while. It felt like aeons, really.  Time – or some early concept of it; and anyway, time went by differently in Heaven – seemed to blurr into one long period that could have been hours or years as they rested there, bathing in each other's presence. Somehow, it seemed to them as if they had known each other since the Beginning.

“May I kiss you?”

The words came out of the blue before Raphael even realised that he had spoken them aloud. 

Aziraphale stiffened in his arms for a split-second before he let out a soft sigh. Slowly, he shuffled around in Raphael's arms until he could look at him, kneeling between his spread legs.

“Yes,” he finally murmured, and bend down until their lips met.

It was such a strange concept, the pressing together of two pairs of lips, but then, it was a fairly new – and seldomly practised – concept (Raphael couldn't even remember which clever angel had thought of it; surely no one he knew).

Shaky moans tumbled over the two angels' lips which were muffled in the mouth of the respective other. It was a simple touch, but none could have imagined how good it felt. Lips seemed to be an incredibly sensitive part of ones essence.

“I want to touch you,” Aziraphale mumbled against Raphael's lips, and his shy but steady hands flew to Raphael's head to gently cup his face between them.

“Yesss,” the Archangel hissed, and arched into Aziraphale.

Given permission, Aziraphale started exploring Raphael with gentle touches like he'd never been touched before. Atom by atom, Raphael came apart under Aziraphale's hands, his love, his Grace that shone so brightly, so warm.

Reaching up his trembling hands since he simply  _ had _ to touch Aziraphale as well, he, emboldened, finally sank  his fingers into that soft-looking white-blond hair. He moaned as he found it equally as soft under his hands as when it had been pressed against his cheek while watching the stars together.

Aziraphale let his hands stray from their exploration of the rest of Raphael to bury his fingers in Raphael's long red locks of hair, too.

“Love your hair,” he murmured, tightening his hold, and Raphael wanted to laugh, but the noise turned into a moan when Aziraphale  _ tugged _ to pull him into another deep kiss . His scalp prickled pleasantly, and he urged closer to Aziraphale, his own hands tightening in the other angel's hair as well. But he didn't want to hurt this delicate, beautiful, wicked being, so he let his hands wander all over that heavenly soft body for the first time. Very soon, Aziraphale copied him, his warm fingers leaving burning trails over Raphael's form.

Raphael arched his back at the pleasure coursing through him at the so deceptively simple touches and caresses, and his wings appeared instinctively. He folded them forwards until he could encompass them both in their protective embrace, cocooning them in their own little world. On his part, Aziraphale, too, let his wings materialise, and he moaned loudly when the white feathers were squeezed and caressed by another pair of wings. Raphael couldn't help himself but join in on that moan; their wings touching simply felt so, so good. He'd never done something like that ever before, and if he had any say in it, from now on, Aziraphale would be the only one he did this with.

“Kiss me,” Aziraphale demanded, and while Raphael did, with their lips and wings touching, they tentatively reached out with their Graces until those touched as well. A warm, bright feeling coursed through the two angels. It quickly filled every pore of them right into the tips of their feathers, setting them ablaze. A pleasant tingling rushed through their bodies that had them both gasping, sparking brighter and brighter as they unravelled in each other's arms, and their Graces melted into each other more and more.

A sudden, inner explosion of divine light shuddered through their bodies, their Graces sang in joy as they clung tightly to each other, their physical essences trembling and shaking with release.

Slowly, oh so slowley, the two angels came down from their high again, their Graces untangled and receded back into their respective vessels. Breathing heavily, the angels held tight to each other, awe-struck and frozen in a positive kind of shock. 

With the last of his strength, Raphael cupped Aziraphale's face in his unsteady hands, and pressed their lips together. 

“I love you, Aziraphale,” Raphael whispered shakily against equally trembling lips. 

Those lips stretched into a beatific smile at the admission.

“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale breathed, his voice wobbly with emotion. “I love you, too. So much.”

“Good,” Raphael grinned, and kissed him properly again. 

They didn't say anything for some time after that.

When they eventually pulled away again, Aziraphale stared at Raphael intensely for a long while, taking him all in, and Raphael read awe and adoration for  _him_ in pretty blue-grey eyes. It humbled him.

The Principality leaned in for another kiss; they couldn't seem to get enough of those.

“How can you love _me_?” Aziraphale marvelled in a whisper against Raphael's mouth, the words nothing more than a wisp of air against his lips.

Raphael snorted at that. “How could I not?”

Aziraphale shook his head with an endearing smile, still disbelieving, and probably doubting Raphael's sanity for crossing Heavenly Hierarchies so crassly.

“Silly angel,” Raphael smiled fondly as if everything was said with that. And for him, it was.

“Why do you call me that? You've done so a couple of times now.” Aziraphale frowned.

“Because...” Raphael stared intensely at Aziraphale, reaching up to gently touch the tips of his fingers to Aziraphale's lips, and he sighed softly, willing Aziraphale to understand, and not even being embarrassed about how kitschy this sounded. It was the simple truth. “Because you are. You're _my_ angel.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale answered without hesitation when he finally accepted Raphael's feelings, setting aside all his doubts and trepidations of any possible consequences their love may arouse. He nudged his head forward so that he could press his lips in a kiss against Raphael's fingertips still lying against his lower lip. “Yes, I am. For all time.”

Raphael would have been totally fine with spending the rest of eternity here in the Library, holding Aziraphale tightly in his arms and basking in his love and warmth. But unfortunately, he had some small duties he had to attend to. And he'd rather do them now than having Gabriel come find him, and thus discovering the two lovers. He wasn't ashamed for loving a Principality, Heaven no – he would fight for them to his last breath and even defy the Almighty Herself if he had to –, but for now, it was easier when it was just the two of them.

Sighing heavily, he entangled himself from their embrace. 

“I'm sorry, angel, but I have to go now.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed, looking as disappointed as Raphael felt.

“Yeah, you know, Archangel stuff. Horribly boring,” he moaned which just earned him a small giggle from Aziraphale, lifting both of their moods. 

He pouted in mock affront, and punished his angel by drawing him close to his body and kissing him long and deep until he had him moaning in his arms. “You're a cheeky bastard behind that innocent face of yours,” he whispered hotly against Aziraphale's lips, and he felt an answering grin curving Aziraphale's mouth against his own.

“I promise that we'll see each other again soon,” he then declared, clearing his throat, and trying to appear composed since the kiss hadn't left him unaffected either.

Aziraphale smiled at him, all mischieviousness gone from his face, and Raphael melted under that smile. “I can hardly wait, my love.”

It felt like an eternity since Raphael had seen Aziraphale last, though in reality, it couldn't have been overly long. Nonetheless, he was giddy and restless to see his angel again, and he was preparing to go looking for him right now, no matter that Gabriel was still talking to him about... whatever, when the sharp, bittersweet sound of a bell rang through Heaven. It was a noise that didn't bode well.

Startled, he caught his siblings' eyes who looked as astonished as he did.

“What's the meaning of the alarm?” Gabriel bellowed, and a frightened guard suddenly raced over to them, almost stumbling in her haste. Her eyes wide and frantic.

“A riot!” she cried as she came to a slithering stop in front of the Four.

“A riot?!” Gabriel's voice boomed through the halls, making more than one angel nearby wince in fear. “Who would dare...”

“It's Lucifer, Sire,” the guard continued to explain, “he... I don't know why, but he gathered a hoard of supporters, and now... now they are...”

Gabriel's face went grim, his violet eyes glinting coldly. “Everybody to the weapons,” he ordered. 

“Shouldn't we try talking to him?” Uriel interjected grimly.

“He already shed blood,” the guard threw in, and shook her head in disgust. 

That news was enough to harden Uriel's demeanour as well.

“If it's war he wants, he can have it,” Gabriel spoke up once more. “I will smite him. Raphael, you stay with me.”

Raphael flinched at the order because his first gut instinct had been to run looking for Aziraphale. But he couldn't disobey a direct order from Gabriel even if it was what he wanted most. Accepting a sword being pressed into his hand by his brother, Raphael gritted his teeth. Aziraphale would be fine. Although he hated fighting, he surely was a capable warrior. He could take care of himself. 

Numbly, Raphael stared in shock at the devastation and loss and pain unfolding right in front of him. He still didn't quite grasp what had happened exactly, and right now, he wasn't in any state to think about or even try to comprehend it. 

Raising a trembling hand, he brushed fiery red locks away from his dirty brow and cheeks which were sticking to his face with sweat and holy, silvery blood. 

The fingers of his other hand losened, suddenly unable to bear holding the bloody sword any longer. It cluttered to the white, cracked tiles with a horrible clanking noise.

He let his eyes roam around. Over the dead, the wounded, and over the rebels who had been brutally smote down by Gabriel. His brother was currently snapping orders in a hard voice who should care for the wounded, and how the rebels should be restraint until the time for their punishment had come.

But none of that did mean anything to Raphael. As if on autopilot, his tired feet started moving.

“Raphael!” Michael called. “Where are you going?”

“I need a moment,” he snapped. And really, nobody could hold it against him that this had traumatised him. Everyone had been left shell-shocked by what had happened today; most angels weren't even trained warriors so that they had been completely taken by surprise by the slaughter, being helpless against the rebels. Even Michael and Uriel looked disturbed. Gabriel was the only one who kept going efficiently. No emotion betrayed what he was really feeling, and even then, Raphael thought that it could only be rage at the impertinence of starting a civil war right here in Heaven. Sometimes, his brother's inability to feel compassion in some situations scared him.

For a split-second, Raphael felt guilty just leaving like that. He, as one of the Four, was supposed to coordinate the aftermath of this massacre, was supposed to help. But the only thing he could think of was finding Aziraphale. 

His brother's orders to stay at his side had thwarted his plan to go looking for the Principality during the battlem whom, so he feared, as a Principality, would have been send to the front line.

Almost not daring to, he looked into the faces of the fallen on his way, every time breathing a sigh of relief when a strange face stared back at him, distorted to a horriblek frozen grimace in death, instead of the beloved face of his angel.

Making his way through the chaos that was Heaven, Raphael sought out every dead angel he could find. When he found no more, he was trembling in shock, but also a heavy burden lifted from him since none of them was Aziraphale. 

His weary legs carried him into the infirmary. Dear Lord, there were so many wounded, almost as much as the dead.

Looking into those painfilled faces was almost more devastating than looking at the dead, so he stopped one of the healers, and asked him after Aziraphale. But the angel shook her head, the wounded hadn't been identified yet, caring for them was a priority no matter their identity.

Disappointed, although he agreed with her, Raphael's shoulders slumped, and he turned around to leave the infirmary again.

“Aziraphale you say?”

Perking up, he spun around at the brittle voice.

He met the eyes of a wounded angel lying on one of the countless beds in the infirmary. With new hope and excitement rushing through his tired body, he stepped closer to the angel wearing the battle armour of a Principality.

“Yes,” he confirmed eagerly. “Do you know where he is?”

Unexpectedly, the angel's face hardened, and naked disgust stared back at Raphael. “Why do you ask for that traitor, My Lord?” 

Raphael flinched back as if he had been slapped. “What are you saying?” he breathed, disbelieving, since he couldn't imagine what the angel meant.

“He is one of the Morningstar's traitors,” the angel spat, revolted. “I saw him among the prisoners.”

“No!” Raphael flared up, his wings materialising behind his back all of a sudden, spreading threateningly in his agitation. Little blizzards flashed around his enraged form.

The other angel flinched in fear at the sight of an enraged Archangel.

“How dare you say something like that!” Raphael hissed, his powers giving his voice a carrying, ominous quality like the rolling thunder of a space storm.

“It is the truth, Sire,” the Principality insisted stubbornly, but lowered his eyes subservently.

Raphael breathed in sharply through his nose as he stared down at the other angel with a murderous look. 

Then, all of a sudden, he spun around, and stormed out of the infirmary.

Rushing through the corridors of Heaven, now insusceptible to the lingering chaos and misery around him, Raphael made his way to the cell block. 

Rage propelled him forward as well as the terrible thought that it could maybe be true what that Principality had said.

But why would it be true? However could it be that Aziraphale, sweet, innocent Aziraphale, had been among the traitors!?

It had to be a misunderstanding, surely. Or worse – Raphael grit his teeth –, he had been set up. In all honesty, Raphael wouldn't put it past those despicable Principalities that had been tormenting his love so to stoop down to setting their own brother up for treason, just to get rid of him and his strange ways. It was unheard of, angels behaving like that, but then, Raphael couldn't have imagined that – apart from a slight dislike – angels were capable of bullying their brothers just for being different. Meeting Aziraphale had disabused him of the notion.

With all that had happened, Raphael came to the unshakable conclusion that Aziraphale must have been set up. There couldn't be another explanation. Not his sweet angel.

Oh God... Aziraphale surely must be incredibly afraid right now.

Raphael hastened his stride.

Beside himself with disbelieving rage and worry, he finally marched into the cell block, bullying his way into Aziraphale's cell since he was “the Archangel fucking Raphael, so let me through”.

Trembling with emotions, he stepped into the constricting, depressing cell that only consisted of bare white walls and a white floor.

Aziraphale, pacing frantically through the small room, spun around when he heard the cell door open, and Raphael met fearfully wide eyes. The angel's whole body relaxed when he realised who his visitor was.

“Raphael!” he cried, and rushed up to the Archangel. For a split-second, he was hesitant to bridge the last bit of distance between them so as if he was afraid of his welcome, but Raphael took the decision out of his hands. Determined, he enfolded Aziraphale in a tight embrace, so thight, that their essences almost melted into each other. 

“I don't know what happened,” Aziraphale sobbed into Raphael's shoulder, clinging to him for dear life. “Please, I beg you, you have to believe me that I had nothing to do with all that.”

“Shh,” Raphael made, trying to calm the frantic angel down. 

“I know, my love,” he assured him gently, caressing his cheek and then brushing his fingers through the soft hair. “You could never do something so hideous.”

Aziraphale's shoulders sagged in relief, and he pulled back to give Raphael a watery smile. He sought his face for a while until he quickly found the truth in Raphael's eyes. “Oh, I'm so relieved. I thought that you...”

“Hush. I couldn't ever think something like that about you,” Raphael assured him again, and leaned in for a comforting kiss which they stretched out for a long time since it meant a short escape from reality. Gently, he brushed Aziraphale's tears away while never breaking their kiss although he, too, had started to cry.

“What will happen now?” Aziraphale asked anxiously when they pulled apart at one point. 

Raphael could only sigh at that. “I don't know for sure. But there will be a trial, I think.”

The Principality's shoulders slumped again, this time in defeat. “I see,” he mumbled in a voice so thin and weak with sudden hopelessness that it broke Raphael's heart a thousand times over.

This couldn't go on like this. 

Cupping Aziraphale's face in his hands firmly, he stared him in the eye imploringly. “I love you,” he said firmly when he made a silent decision. “I always will.”

“I-I love you, too,” Aziraphale hiccupped, confused and dazed at Raphael's suddenly so determined, firm, and grim tone. 

Pressing his lips together, Raphael pulled his signet ring from his finger, and gently put it onto Aziraphale's. He raised that hand to press a kiss onto his knuckles before he tilted his head forward for a last desperate kiss on the lips.

Out of the blue, he then let go of Aziraphale's hand, and he stepped back from the other angel, out of his reach. With every step he took back, he saw Aziraphale crumbling in front of him, all hope leaving those blue eyes as he thought that Raphael, too, was deserting him because nothing could be done about his dire situation anyway. He could almost see the furious, anxious thoughts flitting through his angel's gentle mind. But he couldn't bring himself to correct Aziraphale's assumption. Neither did he want to raise his hopes nor did he want to make the imminent separation any harder on them than it already was.

“Farewell, my love,” he whispered, leaving the cell. 

The last he saw of Aziraphale were tears that ran down his rosy cheeks in silvery streams, his divine light dimmed with despair.

“Gabriel!” he called, and hurried over to where Gabriel and Michael stood, looking out of the windows into cool, empty light that surrounded this part of Heaven instead of the comforting view over the universe.

“I have to talk to you.”

Gabriel cocked his head. “I'm busy, Raphael, I have a trial to plan,” the other Archangel answered, strict but with a note of fondness in his voice that was always reserved for Raphael alone.

“Yes, and that's why I have to talk to you,” Raphael insisted. “It's about one of the... rebels.”

Gabriel frowned at that, and Michael pressed her lips together in displeasure. “Raphael, I know Lucifer is your friend, but...”

“It's not about Lucifer,” he interrupted his brother hastily. “I know that he...” 

He bit his lip, not wanting to think about Lucifer at all. He was still in shock about what had happened, and he couldn't help but think how unfair it was that Lucifer was being punished just for asking questions, the same questions Raphael was asking himself in his head, too, to be honest...

He shook his head to clear his mind. Lucifer was lost, even if it broke his heart. He had to concentrate on the one he could still save. “I'm talking about Aziraphale.”

“Who is Aziraphale?” Gabriel asked, irritation creeping into his voice.

“One of the Principalities. He's my friend.”

“I see,” Gabriel sighed.

“Look, Raphael,” Michael added, “we're sorry, but he...”

“No! He is innocent!” Raphael insisted. “He wouldn't ever do something that could be considered treason. He's much too pure and loyal for that.”

“But he...”

“It's been a mistake. Someone set him up, one of the other angels. I don't know, just... please, Gabriel, let him go,” Raphael pleaded with his brother, frantic hazel eyes searching Gabriel's stern face.

Gabriel frowned. “I can't do that. If I let one of the traitors go, this will just cause another riot. Do you want that?”

“Of course not, but... but it's been such chaos, and everything happened so fast. Nobody knows who exactly followed Lucifer. Nobody would notice if one of the prisoners is set free now,” Raphael argued eagerly, actually starting to wring his hands which betrayed his nervousness and desperation that rose with every passing second.

“We can't do that,” Michael now insisted as well.

His wide eyes darted from Gabriel to Michael, feeling as if the ground had opened up under his feet and he was falling freely into the abyss. “But... please!” He turned pleading eyes onto Gabriel again. “Please, brother.”

But Gabriel gravely shook his head.

Raphael stared at the other two Archangels for what felt like forever, his thoughts racing, his divine essence throbbing like mad. He felt sick. Desperate. 

In that moment, he knew what he had to do. It was something he had already thought about back in Aziraphale's cell; a contingency plan if he couldn't sway his brother. And obviously, he couldn't.

Balling his suddenly trembling hands into fists to hide the naked fear he felt at even thinking about it, he raised his chin resolutely.

“Then let me take his place.”

He felt completely calm after he had said the words, and somehow relieved.

For a few long, long moments, utter silence descended onto the trio.

Then, the other two burst into action. Shocked accusations and exclamations of disbelief bombarded his sensitive ears, Gabriel's booming, furious voice drowning out Michael's shrill words.

But he wouldn't be swayed. Not on this, not when it counted.

Raphael drew himself up to his full height, determined to stand his ground, and continued as if he hadn't heard his siblings' violent protests. “No matter what will be decided during the trial, no matter what will happen to the rebels, I will take Aziraphale's place.”

“You can't do that!” Gabriel shouted, his imperious voice normally forcing lesser angels to their knees, making them cower in fear, but not Raphael. Behind the rage, the youngest Archangel recognised Gabriel's terror and his love for him, but he couldn't let himself be swayed even by that.

“I can,” he insisted stubbornly. “It is my decision.”

“You're my little brother, and I'm your superior, so it's _not_ your decision,” Gabriel snapped equally as stubbornly as Raphael, glaring at him.

“You are all that,” Raphael answered calmly, nodding. “But you don't own me. And you don't rule over my heart.”

“Why would you do such a thing?!” Purple eyes searched his determined face frantically, not wanting to understand – or maybe unable to.

“Because I love him,” he stated, loud and clear so that there was no doubt left.

Devastated silence befell the two older Archangels, and their hard stares bore into Raphael. He, though, stood firm.

“Do I have your word, Gabriel?” he finally broke the ominous silence. “I take Aziraphale's place, and he will be free.” Raphael narrowed his eyes. “His sins will be completely eradicated, and that's how he will be treated in the future. He will remain unsullied from all evil. His alleged sins will be _my_ sins.”

Gabriel stared at him for the longest time, speechless, and for once in his existence, every emotion flitting through him highly visible on his stern face. And Raphael felt bad for it. Really. But Aziraphale simply mattered more. He shifted his stance, tensing every muscle in his body to stand firm, to show his iron-tight determination.

He saw the moment Gabriel capitulated, knowing very well that, although he could easily forbid Raphael to do such a thing, he would lose his love forever if he did.

So,  eventually, Gabriel nodded. “Agreed,” he answered, his voice, despite trying to remain steadfast, sounded broken. 

Raphael nodded curtly, satisfied. “I don't trust you not to pull some sneaky stunt, brother,” he continued in a firm voice. “Knowing you, you would find a way to stop me.”

Grim satisfaction spread through Raphael when he saw Gabriel flinch minutely, caught.

“Therefore, I want you to sign a contract.”

Gabriel flinched harder since he knew as well as Raphael that, for an angel, a contract was binding.

With a flourish, he waved his hand, and an unrolled scroll appeared, gently floating in front of them. The words of light glowing softly for them all to see.

Trying to be as dispassionately as he could, Raphael pointed out the paragraphs of the contract. “Aziraphale will be set free, he will be free of sin because I will carry all of them in his stead,” Raphael summarised, “and you will erase his memories. All these points are non-negotiable.”

Surprised, Gabriel's gaze snapped up from scanning the contract without even seeing the damning words, and stared at Raphael. 

“Why would you want his memories to be erased?” It was Michael who uttered the confused words instead of Gabriel who seemed speechless again for a moment.

Raphael's voice wavered a bit as he continued, and he felt tears constricting his throat, making it hard to speak. “B-because he shall live his life with a clear conscience and a pure heart without ever knowing that he has been dragged into this mess. And I don't want him to have to live with blaming himself for my fate – and I know he will. It would destroy his gentle heart.”

Gabriel flinched once more at that, and he looked like he wanted to say something to this, but he kept his mouth shut in the end. 

Instead, he got the hint when Raphael, after signing the contract first, almost shoved the scroll into his face. With a remarkably steady hand, he put his sigil on the document with Michael signing as a witness.

The moment that had happened, the scroll rolled up on its own and simply vanished, being deposited into the restricted area of Heaven's archives, being under lock and key forever.

Raphael felt lighter when the contract vanished, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Good,” he mumbled. “And please do me a last favour; keep Aziraphale locked up until... it's over, whatever may happen now. I don't want him to get any stupid ideas trying to save me.”

Gabriel looked like he would applaud this, but he kept silent, and simply nodded jerkily.

Initially, Gabriel had planned to let all of Heaven attend the trial, let all of Heaven witness the traitors' shameful defeat, but now, in a last attempt to protect Raphael, only the four Archangels attented. Not even the highest of the Seraphim were allowed into the courtroom with the exception of Metatron who had to be there as the Almighty's voice, though he wouldn't interfere.

Afterwards, everybody would know that Raphael was one of the traitors, yes, but Gabriel at least wanted to spare him the accusing gazes and the disgust directed at him from all the other angels.

Guards led in the rebels, Luzifer in the forefront of the shockingly huge group of traitorous angels. When they came to a stop before the judges, their powers dampened by strong celestial magic woven into sigils on the floor to keep them in line, Raphael suddenly left his place among the Four to take his place at Lucifer's side instead.

A shocked murmur went through the group of accused at this, and Gabriel heard Uriel's shocked intake of breath somewhere to his right since she hadn't known either what Raphael would do; only him and Michael had known so far.

“What are you doing?!” Lucifer hissed as soon as Raphael had come to a stop beside him, wide eyes darting frantically from Raphael to Gabriel. “You haven't done anything.”

Sneering in disgust, Lucifer turned to Gabriel before Raphael had a chance to reply. “He is innocent! You can't do this, you bastard!”

Pain flitted over Gabriels face for a moment before he schooled his features once more into a cold, unforgiving mask. “It's his decision,” he explained emotionlessly.

Aghast, Lucifer turned back to his best friend. “Why are you doing this?”

“I'm doing this for love,” Raphael answered curtly without looking at Lucifer.

He felt Lucifer's gaze on his person almost like a physical touch, but he still wouldn't look at him.

“You're taking someone's place, aren't you?” the Seraphim finally breathed, shocked and astonished at the same time.

Biting his lip until it throbbed painfully, Raphael simply nodded, and with that, the matter was settled for him. He briefly met Gabriel's eyes who looked like he wanted to say something, but in the end, he didn't.

Averting his gaze from Raphael, the Archangel stepped forward, starting the trial with a firm voice that echoed through all of Heaven.

Being cast out of Heaven. That was the sentence Lucifer and his lot had to face. Personally, Gabriel couldn't think of a more just punishment.

While Michael went to oversee the others' punishments – she took a quiet pleasure to such things, vicious and efficient –, it  was now Gabriel's job to personally oversee the first stage of Lucifer's punishment before he, as the first one, would be shoved out of Heaven.

He tried to tell himself that he didn't feel better while he tortured the Morningstar, that it didn't feel satisfying and justified. Most of all because it was Lucifer's fault, who had started asking stupid questions, doubting, that Raphael's fate was sealed... Well, apart from the other one who, in Gabriel's opinion, was even more at fault. What Lucifer had done was politics, but this mindless Principality...

A vicious scream was ripped from Lucifer as more and more white feathers fell to the ground, spattered with blood made of pure light. That noise brought Gabriel back into the here and now, and he looked down at Lucifer. Surprisingly, the Seraphim, hanging powerlessly in his chains, sought his gaze, a determined expression in his beautiful, now marred face.

“Promise me, brother,” Lucifer rasped, “promise, if not sparing him, you will lessen Raphael's pain.”

Gabriel sneered at that. “He isn't a traitor like you. I'd never do to him what I do to you and your lot.”

Lucifer nodded, and a soft sigh of relief tumbled from his lips.

“Then, for the sake of the one we both hold so dear, promise to take away his memories.”

“What?” 

Gabriel frowned, and Lucifer shifted in his chains, the rattling an unpleasant, grating noise.

“I don't want him to have to live with the knowledge that he is doomed although he is innocent, only doing this to spare the one he loves. He will live his life of perdition knowing he will never see him again. I don't want that pain for him.”

Automatically, Gabriel sneered in disgust as he thought about the one Raphael was doing this for. But then, for a few long moments, Gabriel pondered this.

Eventually, he nodded.

“You're right,” he finally conceeded. “I don't want him to suffer this pain for all eternity either.”

“And I will make sure that none of the others will ever reveal to him who he really is.”

The two angels looked at each other firmly. Then, Lucifer nodded before he let his body go slack, surrendering to his punishment.

Raphael stood before him, at the edge of Heaven, bruised, barely able to stand if not for his stubborness, and with his broken, bloodied wings a deep black now, the white feathers having fallen out, because even if he hadn't been tortured as severely as the others – Gabriel had made sure of that –, for the punishment to be fullfilled, he, too had to have his Grace ripped out. He wasn't an angel anymore, just a lesser being now. But still, he stood proudly. If he was afraid, he didn't show it, and for that, Gabriel admired him deeply.

“Think about your promise, brother,” Raphael croaked, his voice hoarse from screaming in pain. 

Gabriel gritted his teeth, and instead thought of another promise made not so long ago.

“I will,” he said.

Raphael's whole body relaxed, and a small smile even made it onto his face.

Gabriel wanted to sneer in disgust and rage at the unfairness.

“Then it's okay,” Raphael sighed. “If he's fine, I'll endure this.”

Breathing heavily, Gabriel had to force himself to keep silent lest he said something to hurt his little brother even more, or snap at the guards to get this Aziraphale after all, and chuck him out of Heaven and into the abyss instead of Raphael. 

He stepped closer to Raphael, right up to the edge. He wanted to say something, anything, wanted to tell him he loved him, but he couldn't. That was not his way.

Instead, he raised his hands, allowing himself to caress Raphael's fiery red locks before he clasped his face between his hands.

“Wha... Gabriel!” Raphael cried as he felt that something was wrong, and wanted to flinch back in surprise, but Gabriel held tight.

“It's better this way,” he ground out through gritted teeth, and concentrated to summon his powers. “I can't let you remember. Believe me, it's better this way.”

Raphael now brought up all of his reamining strength, and started to struggle in earnest against Gabriel's hold as he understood what his brother was trying to do.

“No!” he begged, “please, Gabriel, don't. Please, don't take my memories of him, they're all I'll have left!”

But Gabriel just pressed his lips together, and pushed forward, forcing his powers into Raphael, ruffling through his mind, and ripping out his memories, his whole identity, taking it all.

When he let go of him, Raphael fell to his knees, curling in on himself in pain.

Gabriel turned away, averting his gaze, and wishing he could close his ears to the horrible whimpering sounds that tumbled over Raphael's lips.

“Proceed,” he said to the guards who stepped forward, and forced the screaming, begging creature into the abyss.

Hideous, blood-curdling screams echoed through Heaven, creeping into even the most remote corner and filling them out with their horrid noise. Tainting the divinity of this place.

The screams hurt him almost physically, and they shook Aziraphale to his core. All the more because he knew, whatever was happening out there, the same would happen to him soon.

Whimpering softly, trying to swallow down the suffocating hysteria as he wondered when they would come to get him, he curled up in a tight ball, cowering on the cold floor of his prison, waiting. And hoping.

Gabriel closed his eyes. His whole essence lurched unpleasantly to the point of actual pain. As he marched away, he squeezed his eyes shut to forget the sound his little brother had made while Falling.

For now, he had seen enough. He had overseen the first Falls, had seen what the violent impact of their Fall had done, had seen the hole their Fall had melted into reality, creating a pocket dimension where they now dwelled, hurt and lost, changed, horribly distorted, and completely faring for themselves. That was where Raphael was now, a place that even Heaven could not have foreseen, created by pain and treason. Although, he wasn't Raphael anymore, wasn't he? He was one of them now. One of the Fallen. Doomed for all eternity.

Now, it was time to wrap up this whole tragedy and be done with it once and for all.

Finally, they seemed to have come for him. The screams of agony and hopelessness had long since become silent. Naked fear still paralysed his whole being, but at least the agonising wait was over. Now whatever happened would finally happen. He couldn't say that he was ready, but as long as the waiting was over, he even felt kind of relieved.

Numbly, Aziraphale looked up from his cowering position against the wall, his hands falling from his face where he had hidden it to escape into a place deep inside his mind while trying to shut it all out. He felt so tired, full of fear, without any hope.

It was the Archangel Gabriel who stepped into his cell, and he looked at Aziraphale with so much naked contempt that he shivvered.

“You may go,” the Archangel finally said, his voice cold and cutting like ice. “It's over.”

Aziraphale actually flinched at that voice, but his eyes widened in shock.

“I... I don't understand,” he stammered, slowly scrambling up, but still keeping a healthy distance to the enraged Archangel. He searched the other's face, trying to understand the reason for his cold hatred, and then, something finally occurred to him. 

“What did he do?” he breathed, fear creeping up in his throat to almost choke him. When Gabriel didn't answer him, he took a couple of determined steps towards the Archangel after all. “What did Raphael do?!”

His shout echoed in the small cell as the two angels stood facing each other, Aziraphale's body shaking with fear, Gabriel's with rage.

“He took your place,” Gabriel suddenly spat which caused all fight still left in Aziraphale to bleed out of him. Suddenly weak in the knees, the angel stumbled backwards until he was grateful for the wall in his back once more.

“No,” he whispered. “No, he... he can't do this!”

“It's too late already,” Gabriel sneered. “He is gone. Forever.”

Aziraphale shook his head in denial. “No!” he gasped desperately, and sought out Gabriel's gaze again, looking for confirmation. The murderous glare with which he was regarded was answer enough.

“I told you to go,” Gabriel repeated, and pointed a finger in the direction of the cell door. “Get out of my sight before I forget my promise to him.”

Shakily, Aziraphale forced his feet to obey him. 

“You are the Archangel Gabriel,” he mused, begging. “Surely you can safe him, even now.”

“I can't,” Gabriel replied. “The only thing I can do is honour the promise I gave him.”

“W-which promise?”

Gabriel couldn't seem to hold off on the sneer of contempt for too long faced with Aziraphale. “To let you come out of this innocent. And to accomplish that, he begged me to take your memories of this, of him, although I'd really prefer for you to keep them.” Gabriel took a menacing step forward, enjoying the shocked look on Aziraphale's face as he tormented him so, telling him that he would rip away all of his memories of Raphael no matter how tight he may cling to them. “You don't deserve him, you ridiculous, worthless excuse for an angel,” he hissed. “The only thing you deserve is remembering what you have done to him so that the guilt will eat you up slowly for all eternity. But I gave my word.”

Faster than Aziraphale could blink, Gabriel surged forward, and slammed him against the hard wall. Aziraphale struggled feebly in the Archangel's grip, but he wasn't strong enough.

“I will let you go,” Gabriel spat in renewed rage, “I won't harm even one feather on your soft body because, although I'll never know what he saw in you that he even gave his life for yours, he will not have Fallen in vain. You will live, but know, deep down in the darkest part of your heart, that I will hate you forever, even if you won't know why in a few minutes.”

And with that, Gabriel caged Aziraphale's face in his unforgiving, cold hands.

Aziraphale struggled harder, he cried and pleaded; the memories of Raphael would be the only thing he'd have left of him, but to no avail. Gabriel remained without any mercy for him. He cried out as vicious pain speared his mind like a burning rod, like claws that tore through his mind without any care for the damage they caused. He felt nauseated at the grim satisfaction Gabriel felt while doing this to him, hurting him, and his struggles became weaker.

Panic flared through him as, slowly, Raphaels smiling face faded, an impenetrable fog descended over his happy memories, and the whole experience left him dazed and numb. He didn't even feel it when Gabriel left his mind, the relief of receding pain lost to him in his trancelike state.

“Go now,” the Archangel instructed. “Outside, Uriel will tell you what happened to you, and you will accept her words as the truth, do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Gabriel,” Aziraphale mumbled, and obediently stumbled from the cell right into Uriel's cold, waiting arms.

The night was clear and pleasantly warm. Aziraphale stood at his open window looking out over nighttime London, a glass of wine in his hand while gazing up at the stars. In reality though, he was deeply lost in thought so that he didn't even see the beauty of the stars that were strikingly visible even through the London pollution.

He sighed softly. Ever since Adam had renewed the world – even wishing books into creation that hadn't existed before, but were now standing proudly in Aziraphale's restored shop downstairs; the cheek of that wonderful, creative boy! –, Aziraphale felt wistful, restless. And somehow, he couldn't stop thinking about Crowley.

Well, that wasn't such a surprise, really. The two of them had gone through a lot together – and come out victorious. Now they were free, but somehow, Aziraphale felt wrong-footed, as if hanging over an abyss with just a thin rope securing him which would sooner or later snap, tumbling him into darkness. It had been three days, and he somehow felt as if he had lost all purpose in this new world. What was he supposed to do now?

“Our side,” Crowley had said. And if he were here, he would say, “Enjoy the rest of our lives, angel.”

He was probably right. Aziraphale simply needed a bit of time to come to terms with a new life free of all obligations. A life in which he could chose his friends openly without fearing for reprimands or worse from Heaven.

That led his thoughts back to...

Aziraphale shivvered when unbidden images suddenly sprang up in his mind, reminding him vividly of their fight. A fight after which Aziraphale had been sure that their friendship had suffered irreparable damage – which, much to his shame, he conceded now, had been largely his fault. Now though, he could commit to their friendship with a clear conscience, couldn't he, coward that he was?

When Crowley had said “go away together”, so determined and desperate, even begging Aziraphale, it had been a shock. And what had been more shocking at the time was the fact that, for a split-second, he had wanted to say yes. He had wanted to elope with Crowley to Alpha Centauri or wherever the demon thought could be had the most fun and where they would be safest.

“Our side...”

But he'd always been soft and a coward, preferring to follow the rules safely like a good little angel (well, _largely_ following the rules) than standing firm and be true to Crowley and their friendship. 

No more. 

In the past six thousand years, he had done a lot of wrong regarding their friendship. It had always been Crowley coming to Aziraphale's rescue, and when he asked him for exactly two things in six thousand years in return, Aziraphale denied him. Sure, he'd finally relented and given Crowley the Holy Water he'd asked for (and, oh Lord, Aziraphale was glad that he had; he didn't want to think what would have happened if Crowley had to face Ligur and Hastur without any means to defend himself), but when his oldest friend had asked him to leave this planet, he, the noble angel, had ducked out. He could admit now that he should have done it for Crowley. Even if he would have missed his comfortable, well-known and well-loved life here on Earth. For Crowley, he should have forsaken his current life. He was so much more important, after all. 

But now, he didn't have to, did he? They could both continue as they had before, having dinner together, and lunch, going to shows or museums, suffering Crowley's endless shopping trips for the newest gadgets and devices while, in turn, the demon had to suffer Aziraphale's hunt for rare books or new bowties.

They both loved this life here on Earth so much, but to keep them both safe, Crowley had prepared to throw all that away. It was humbling, really.

But, all of a sudden, Aziraphale also knew that their lives didn't have to go on exactly like they had before. There was something that could enrich them, maybe even complete them as he finally could admit to what had lurked like a dark shame in the farthest corner of his mind for thousands of years now. 

He was in love with Crowley.

There. Now he'd said it. Well, at least thought it. Wasn't so hard, really. And no divine light had struck him down for even entertaining the thought of loving a demon. Actually, admitting to his feelings just so felt disappintingly anticlimactic after all the fretting, but at the same time, a huge weighed was lifted from his shoulders, too.

Now, he just had to deal with the monumental task of telling Crowley.

Groaning, Aziraphale laid his head in his neck, and looked up to the glittering stars once more. His thoughts were racing with scenarios and possibilities, but it was all becoming a bit much suddenly, so he forced them into silence for now. One step after the other.

Taking in the divine creation that was the firmament was soothing. His problems, that, a moment ago, had him on the brink of hypervilating, suddenly didn't seem so grand and insurmountable anymore faced with this beautiful infinity.

He would stand here and let it soothe him for a while longer, he decided, until he felt calm enough again to battle his problems.

Something stirred in him the longer he watched the stars. When his restless gaze lingered on Alpha Centauri, being inexplicably drawn to the star again and again, the alien but also incredibly familiar feeling got stronger. Something arose in him, naggling at him like something calling for his attention. A distant, sudden memory, piercing like a blade through the heart and shockingly cold like a bucket of ice water being uppended over him, reared up. At first, it was fuzzy around the edges as he saw himself surrounded by the bright, cold light of Heaven, but then, it slammed into him with a startling clarity.  _ “Oh, and see that?Alpha Centauri? Made that, too. It's my favourite. It was so much fun to create all these stars.”  _

That voice... Crowley's voice. But... no. Not Crowley. That hadn't been his name... Not in Heaven... 

Sheds of even more memories arose suddenly, battering Aziraphale's mind with their force. He gasped in pain, and doubled over as the onslaught threatened to drown him as he felt the celestial power of a spell sliding off of him like water, as stolen memories slotted into their rightful place again in his mind. His glass of wine slipped from his fingers, and shattered on the floor, blood-red liquid spilling everywhere, but for once, Aziraphale couldn't even care for the mess.

And suddenly, he felt free, lighter. The restless feeling he'd had since Armageddon, that not even admitting his love for Crowley a few minutes ago had lessened, vanished. Ever since Adam... 

Adam.  _ Renewing _ the world. Renewing  _ him _ ...

Numbness settled over him as shock permeated his whole being, and he straightened again. His feverish eyes sought the stars once more. But he didn't see them. Not really. The only thing he saw was memory upon memory in front of his inner eye, making him dizzy.

“Raphael,” he finally rasped when the swirling images stopped abruptly. His throat felt raw and bruised, but relief swept over him and he gasped deeply so as if this was the first intake of breath he'd had in centuries. Millennia. And, in a fashion, it was.

How could he have forgotten him? How could he have forgotten the love of his life?!

But right. Gabriel had cruelly taken his memories – not deeming him worth having those precious moments with Raphael even if he'd wanted to torment him with having these memories that would have caused him to shatter with guilt sooner or later – on behalf of Raphael's plea. The silly dear. How could he ever think that it would be a mercy for Aziraphale to forget him? 

To be honest, there had always been something missing deep inside of him. Something he couldn't even name that was only mellowed when Crowley was near him like a soothing balm. 

And now, he knew why.

Sudden tears welled up in Aziraphale's eyes, blurring his vision. Oh Crowley...

Incandescent joy chased away the pain and desperation about what had happened because, in that moment, he realised what his heart had seemed to know already for six millennia. That the one he had loved in Heaven was the same person he had loved for the thousands of years. Something had drawn them to each other. He hadn't recognised Crowley as Raphael, even though they looked the same safe for the eyes – Gabriel's spell had made sure of that –, but nonetheless, their hearts had always known. Their love had proven to be stronger than damnation or the powers of an Archangel.

Instinctively, his hand flew to the ring on his pinky, touching a golden ring that, strangely, had always seemed to have been in his possession without him ever knowing how he had come to it, but knowing that it was incredibly precious to him. 

It all made sense all of a sudden.

The only question that remained was... did Crowley remember who he had been as well? Had Adam's powers given him back his memories, too, however he may have lost them in the first place? Or... 

Aziraphale gulped. 

Or had Crowley known the whole time? Had their meeting high up on the Gates of Eden not been so random as he had thought? Could it be that he just hadn't said anything? Maybe he was ashamed about what he had become, but nonetheless had watched over Aziraphale for six thousand years. Suffering in silence because Aziraphale couldn't remember, and who would have rebuked the feelings of a demon anyway? The thought broke his heart, and shamed him deeply.

Or... 

Another possibility reared its ugly head that made Aziraphale's blood run cold. 

What if Crowley just hadn't said anything because, in the course of their acquaintance, he had finally realised what a ridiculous creature Aziraphale was, so unworthy of his love, and making him wonder how he could ever have given up his place in Heaven for him?! Resenting him for it all?

But no. No, no, no. The only thing Aziraphale had ever felt from Crowley were feelings of fondness and deep friendship. Maybe more, but they had both suppressed these feelings brutally; at least he had...

“Get a grip on yourself!” Aziraphale hissed, and his hands flew up to his head, gripping white-blond locks so tightly until his scalp hurt. 

No use making himself sick with wondering and what ifs. He had to see Crowley. Now.

He had to know the whole truth.

Looking around for a moment, feeling misplaced and fidgety, Aziraphale didn't know what he was supposed to do for a second. He couldn't take a cab now to bring him to Crowley; even more wasted time.

Drawing in a deep breath, Aziraphale made a decision, and closed his eyes. He concentrated, feeling deep inside of himself to tap into his celestial powers. In another plane of existence, his wings rustled as they stretched.

Within the blink of an eye, he was gone.

He staggered for a moment when he materialised in this sphere of existence again because he wasn't used to flying anymore, especially not with a corporation. It took a lot of energy, but he forced himself to stay upright. He needed all of his energy right now to make it through the following minutes. 

Aziraphale straightened, and took in his surroundings for the first time. His instincts had landed him directly in Crowley's bedroom it seemed. The room was cast in darkness except for the moonlight falling through the huge window. A raised lumb of bedcovers told him of Crowley's whereabouts.

Aziraphale remained hidden in the shadows of the room, composing himself again, and watching Crowley for a second as he unexpectedly writhed in bed, tossing and turning and softly whimpering to escape the clutches of an obvious nightmare.

Then, all of a sudden and before Aziraphale had any time to console the demon, he reared up, Aziraphale's name tumbling over Crowley's lips in a frantic shout.

Time seemed to suspend for a moment as Crowley sat up in bed, his breath leaving his lungs in panting stutters. And from where he stood in the shadows, Aziraphale could see the gleam of cold sweat clinging to Crowley's shirtless upper body, gleaming sickenly and enticingly in the moonlight spilling through the window and basking the bed in its soft, silvery rays.

Shaking like a leaf, Crowley nonetheless sensed Aziraphale's presence in his bedroom immediately. He turned his head, his wide, yellow eyes staring in the shadows where Aziraphale hid, catching the angel's gaze almost instantly and dead on without realising it. Aziraphale shuddered at the intensity of that look, but he pulled himself together, and stepped into the light.

The air was thick and filled with so many emotions, so potent that it was almost tangible.

Crowley didn't question Aziraphale's presence in his bedroom, he was much too shaken for that. Instead, he searched Aziraphale's gaze like a drowning man clinging to a lifeline, swallowed heavily, and then asked in a raspy voice, “It's not been just a dream then?”

Aziraphale understood the moment the broken words left Crowley's mouth. So, he wasn't alone in this, Crowley had been robbed of his memories for thousands of years, too, and had them back now. It was quite a relief, to be honest. “No... Raphael.”

Crowley keened at hearing that name, giving the angel the last proof he needed that he really was... and telling Aziraphale for certain what it had been Crowley had been dreaming about. Remembering. 

Sudden sobs wracked Crowley's body, and he buried his face in his hands as he cried. If from shame or anguish or something else entirely, Aziraphale couldn't tell.

What he knew though was that he couldn't watch the love of his life suffer right before his eyes. With ginger steps, he reached the bed, and carefully perched at the corner of the mattress. Without hesitating a moment longer, he pulled the hurting demon into his arms. Crowley let it happen willingly, and readily tucked his head under Aziraphale's chin, crowding into him as close as possible. Aziraphale tilted his head, burying his nose into slightly damp, fiercely red hair that had fascinated him right from the start, breathed in Crowley's scent for the first time now that he was allowed to.

“Oh, what you did, my love. And for me of all people,” he rasped, desperately caressing Crowley's naked shoulders in an attempt to soothe him, but in reality, his calm suddenly shattering at having Crowley here in his arms, he was soothing himself through the gesture as well as ascertaining that Crowley, Raphael, was really here, here in his arms. Safe and alive.

“You know why, angel,” Crowley sobbed into the crook of Aziraphale's neck, slender fingers digging hard into the fabric of Aziraphale's shirt and the flesh of his shoulder blades underneath as he held on for dear life. “For you. Ev'rything's always ever been about you.”

He had known that, of course, even if the memories had been ripped from him for thousands of years. But it still was a hard concept to grasp. That this most divine being should have chosen a life of damnation to save a silly nobody like him. It felt humbling, shameful since he didn't deem himself worthy of that love, but at the same time, Aziraphale couldn't rebuke Crowley for such a foolish move since he felt the heady, all encompassing love the Fallen angel felt for him roll over him in that moment, laying to rest his doubts and all feelings of inferiority. If he'd had the chance, he would have done the same for Crowley back that fateful day...

“I love you, my dear,” he whispered, pressing a kiss into Crowley's hair.

The demon stiffened in his arms, though, and all of a sudden, he pulled back. Anguished yellow eyes stared at Aziraphale. 

The sight tore at the angel's heart.

“I can't ever be him again,” Crowley rasped, tears gleaming silver in the moonlight streaming down his face. 

Aziraphale cocked his head, puzzled, and he needed a moment to understand. When he did, he smiled lovingly at Crowley.

“Silly dear,” he said gently, and leaned in to press a kiss against Crowley's feverish brow. The unsettled demon made a qustioning, lost noise.

Aziraphale pulled back again so that he could look Crowley in the eye. He did want him to see that he meant it since he had always been an open book for Crowley. 

“Even if you may think differently about it, Raphael and Crowley are the same being,” he explained, and Crowley opened his mouth to protest. “No, hush, my dear. In front of me, I see the being that loved me so much that he gave up his life for me, chosing a life in damnation. And I see the being who, over and over in six thousand years, came to my rescue, and who wanted to run away to the stars so that we could be together and safe. Angel or demon, my dear, I don't see a difference in your love for me. But what I actually wanted to say... before my restored memories started bombarding me, I realised something important. Do you now what that was?”

Wide-eyed, Crowley shook his head, and unconsciously leaned into Aziraphale's touch when the angel cupped his cheek in his hand.

“I realised that I love you. _You_ , Crowley, not an angel I have loved in Heaven eons ago. I finally found the courage to admit to my feelings, and now that I am at peace with them, I have to ask your forgiveness for treating you so badly.”

Once more, Crowley made a protesting noise. “Nothing to forgive, angel,” he mumbled, and turned his head into Aziraphale's hand so he could nuzzle the soft palm. “You couldn't help who you are.”

“I would have been a different person if I had retained my memories of us in Heaven. Your brave and free spirit had already started to change me, but without them, I morphed back into that frightened, haughty little thing that would never stray from Heaven's commands, and that would treat a demon who was a true friend rather poorly.”

“And... and now?” Crowley asked timidly.

“Well.” Aziraphale shrugged. “Now I find that I finally am who I'm supposed to be – the one who is blessed by having your love, and whose eternal task it now is to cherrish and adore you like you deserve, Crowley.”

Crowley's breathing had sped up, and his wide eyes desperately studied Aziraphale for the truth of his words. 

It seemed, that he had eventually found what he was looking for because his tense shoulders suddenly slumped, and new tears streamed down his face unhindered. Aziraphale rubbed them away with his thumb since he still cupped one of Crowley's cheeks with one hand. 

“I love you, Aziraphale,” he whispered. “Always have, always will.”

And with that, he leaned forward to crush their lips together.

The two beings sighed softly into each other's mouths in relief when their lips met again after too many millennia of separation.

Giving off a wanton little noise that had Aziraphale shivvering in delight, Crowley let himself fall back onto the mattress slowly, taking Aziraphale with him without ever breaking their kiss. 

Aziraphale couldn't say whose miracle was responsible, but suddenly, their clothes had vanished, and naked skin pressed to naked skin. It was the most divine feeling.

Pushing the blanket away impatiently, Crowley, with considerable, unexpected strength, manhandled Aziraphale around until he could pull the angel between his spread thighs so that their needy bodies suddenly touched from head to toe. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale shuddered, and he dug trembling fingers into Crowley's bony shoulders to anchor himself as incandescent pleasure raced through him at being so incredibly close to Crowley.

“Need you, angel,” Crowley murmured, brushing teasing lips against Aziraphale's jaw, and arching up into the body pressing him down into the mattress, pushing his burning arousal into Aziraphale's hip for emphasis.

“Y-yes,” the angel gasped. He didn't even question Crowley's wish, didn't even ask, for descency's sake, if he was sure. That was how desperately he wanted it as well. 

Thank the Lord for being able to cast miracles because he wouldn't have been able to stop to get any supplies to ease their lovemaking for anything in the world. But so, slick fingers suddenly slipped between their bodies to gently prepare his demon, then coat himself with slick, cool gel before he finally, finally! slid home.

Clinging tightly to each other, angel and demon moaned, and trembled in each other's arms as their bodies and souls were joined to each other. For a second, they felt the loss of being unable to join their Graces, too, but it was a small price to pay when they could finally be together again. otherwise

Crying out as Aziraphale filled him completely, Crowley wrapped arms and legs around the angel to pull him as close as possible. 

It had been so long, yearning for each other, Crowley pining for Aziraphale, both of them knowing, deep, deep down, that there was something that connected them, and now, that something had finally broken through to the surface again. Therefore, it didn't take them long to reach their climax, blissful ecstasy spiralling higher and higher until, eventually, they both plunged into their release together. The ground seemed to shake when their powers exploded, the air sizzled, and for a moment, a divine light shone from Aziraphale's innermost core. New tears, but this time tears of happiness, ran down Crowley's face as he soaked up that warm, friendly light.

Bone-weary but happy, basking in the afterglow, angel and demon shuffled around sluggish limbs until they lay entangled on their sides in Crowley's bed, Aziraphale spooned tightly to Crowley's bony back, and his arms had the demon encircled in a crushing embrace. Sighing softly, they melted into the mattress, completely suffused by peace and love.

“Why didn't  _ you _ remember?” Aziraphale eventually asked quietly into the comforting silence that had now descended over the aftermath of their love-making.

Crowley stayed silent for a moment before he sighed softly. “Gabriel took my memories, too. Against my will, I have to add. Probably thought it'd be a mercy for me,” Crowley answered before he chuckled bitterly. “If I'd have kept my memories, then I could have found you so much sooner.”

“No. You're a demon,” Aziraphale replied softly, shame ringing in his voice, “In my righteousness, I would have despised you if you'd have revealed yourself to me in Eden. Shunned you and probably even attempted to smite you.”

Crowley snorted at that. “You never despised me, angel. Nor did you ever shun or try to smite me, no matter what I did.”

Aziraphale couldn't help but chuckle at that sheepishly. “No,” he agreed. “I never did. And you  _ did _ find me. Against all odds.”

He felt Crowley's answering, smug grin against his skin as the demon tilted his head to press a kiss onto Aziraphale's hand that was intwined with his tightly in front of his chest.

** End **


End file.
